


Tactical Maneuvers

by drabbleandfluff



Category: Bleach
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Whipping, Whips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drabbleandfluff/pseuds/drabbleandfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuchiki Taicho utilizes a different method in assisting his fukutaicho in weapons training; Renji demonstrates to his taicho how it really ought to be used...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tactical Maneuvers

**Author's Note:**

> For the community 24hr_themes on lj  
> Theme: 20:00 Leadership, command and guidance
> 
> Originally written September 2009

 

 

The intricately braided leather is heavy in his hand; the handle itself is just shy of a foot long. Releasing the rest of the coils gathered in his loose fist, the plaited leather _thong_ slithers to the floor extending to approximately ten feet… then there is the _fall_ of another foot, and finally the _cracker_ … in total, Abarai’s whip measures almost twelve feet.

“Kuchiki taicho?” the lieutenant questions' confusion regarding this strange artifact from the human world apparent in his features.

“A _bullwhip,_ Abarai Fukutaicho,” his captain confirms. “Consider it a much smaller pseudo-replica of _Hihio Zabimaru_ ; and although somewhat similar to your shikai… not encumbered with sharp blades.”

Renji flicks his wrist, observing the movement of the whip as it slides out to its full length. Appreciating the weight and judging the heft in the handle and the body; he can’t help the avaricious smirk that makes its way to his mouth.

“You have mastered annihilation with your Bankai, Fukutaicho… I have acquired this piece for your training in precision and finesse.”

The redhead looks inquiringly into his leader’s eyes; the gaze is skeptical, but respectful, “you wish me to train with this instead of being in Bankai? How does that help me, Kuchiki taicho?”

"Not everything can be won over by pure force, Fukutaicho."   
  
 

* * *

 

  
Renji stands in the middle of the training field. He is covered in dirt and sweat and blood… _his_ blood. For the past four hours, he has been trying to figure out how to manipulate this… thing. This dead piece of leather… how is it supposed to improve his control over Zabimaru? It is ungainly, inaccurate, uncontrollable… and it keeps coming back at him, flaying his own skin. He has a gash on his right forearm and a rip in his left shoulder.

With a deep frustrated growl, the redhead throws the whip into the dirt at his feet. He pulls out his katana and runs his fingers over the naked blade, savoring the surge of reiatsu pouring into his blood and bleeding out to the atmosphere, “Howl, Zabimaru!”

 

In an instant, Renji has decimated his targets. A self-satisfied grin plasters itself across his face-- “Now that’s more-fuckin’-like-it!”

 

“Abarai fukutaicho...”

 

Renji freezes; a cold wave of uneasiness washes over him, as he turns to find his captain looking at him from the far end of the training ground. The lieutenant has never heard his captain raise his voice, yet he can hear that voice from across the compound; can hear his captain’s voice clearly in his ear.

“Sheathe your zanpakuto, fukutaicho…”

“Hai, Kuchiki taicho!”

In a split second, his captain stands before him.

The steely gaze surveys the damage brought on by his second in command. The captain is displeased. “Abarai fukutaicho, you were instructed to familiarize yourself with the human weapon. Instead you have demolished the training field with your zanpakuto. Explain yourself.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir.”

“Denied.”

Nonplussed, and having expected that response from his captain, the redhead goes into detail, _dry detail_ , regarding what methods he has employed in his attempts to master the leather cord. Most of which involve the use of brute strength to force the whip to react as he wants it to.

“Enough.” The captain understands where the instruction needs to begin, “Pick up the bullwhip, Fukutaicho. Stand here.”

The captain begins to instruct him, educate him on the physics of whip wielding… and the fukutaicho is spell bound. Renji has never had the undivided attention of his taicho before… no, scratch that, he _has_ had the _undivided attention_ of his taicho… however, Renji will admit that he just didn’t appreciate the end result of that… encounter.

 

The deep dulcet tones are almost hypnotic. It’s not as though he hasn’t heard Kuchiki taicho speak before… quite the opposite. Kuchiki taicho probably says more words to Renji in one day than he does to anyone else in the Seireitei. It’s the fact that these words are not spoken _to_ him, but _for_ him, that captivate Renji the most. This is the first time Kuchiki taicho has taken an interest in who he is, who he can be.

“…commit to throw the whip with your whole body,” the captain educates, “…from the soles of your feet, up through your back, into your shoulder… right through your hand, into the whip…” and for some reason Renji cannot fathom, as his mind has entirely blanked out, Kuchiki taicho demonstrates what he is saying by running a gelid hand over Renji’s body in tandem with his words.

Renji feels the touch of that noble hand like blue fire ripping along his flesh. The ache from the gash in his shoulder is all but forgotten; all he feels now is the tingle of that intimate stroke up his spine, the caress over his shoulder, the trace of his muscles down his arm.

Renji finds it highly arousing that for a moment, they were both gripping the handle of the whip as Kuchiki taicho ran his hand over the redhead’s in demonstration of his words. He sighs softly as he watches the elegant hand clench around the leather grip before falling away.

“…make every component of your throw a single thought, a single action, a single follow through,” the silver irises penetrate the redhead’s trapped gaze, “Be single minded.“

“Hai, Kuchiki taicho,” his throat is dry, he can hear the blood pounding in his ears.

The captain walks over to one of the fraudulently broken targets, and resets it.

“Proceed.”

 

The captain moves to stand right behind his lieutenant, to the left. He observes as his fukutaicho uses the knowledge he has gained in these past several minutes to his advantage. If anything, Kuchiki taicho realizes Abarai is a fast learner, and gifted in physical combat.

Renji is wound tighter than a bow string. The mere presence of his taicho so close behind him is both a heady high and an anxious low. He can feel those eyes on him, watching every part of his body move. _Fuck_ , it’s more of a turn on than anything else he has ever experienced in his life. He knows he can’t fuck this up; if the whip jumps back to tear at his captain, Renji knows he might as well turn in his badge.

But he has nothing to fear; his spur-of-the-moment tutorial and unflinching determination not to flay his own captain guide the whip accordingly, and the target is legitimately hit as intended.

“Acceptable, fukutaicho. Continue.” The captain turns and walks away, without waiting for a response.

Renji is glad for this moment of reprieve. Hakama are naturally loose fitting, but even this erection cannot be hidden. As his captain reaches the far point of the field, he hears the velvety voice once again.

 

“Identify your goal; then move heaven and earth to achieve it, Fukutaicho.”

“Hai, Kuchiki taicho.” It is a whisper to himself… and a promise.

  
 

* * *

 

  
  
Subtle changes in the angle of his elbow, a flick in his wrist... he doesn't need to use his entire arm to generate power or direction. It is the combination of shoulder, elbow and wrist that allows the lieutenant to ruthlessly tear his target in half, or carefully remove a leaf off the branch of a tree.

“Show me, Abarai.”

Feeling like an academy student under scrutiny for the first time in years, Renji nervously begins his demonstration to his taicho. He has been training with the whip for weeks now; it has become like a living thing to him; it now moves as he dictates.

Still unable to call upon his zanpakuto’s abilities, everything on display is through his talent with this weapon alone. But he has mastered this, and Renji’s hands-on skill in weaponry is superlative; soon, he is absorbed in hitting his targets as delineated by his taicho.

Finished, he grins triumphantly and glances over at his captain.

There is a look in Kuchiki taicho’s eyes… for a moment, Renji can’t place it, having never seen it sent in his direction before. Then he realizes what it is-- Kuchiki taicho is proud of him. Of having achieved everything set out for him.

 

Renji realizes he will do whatever it takes to see that look directed at him again.

“One last thing, Abarai.”

Kuchiki taicho walks away from his lieutenant, only to stop and turn around again approximately ten feet farther. A slender hand dips into a hidden pocket. The captain pulls out a single sakura petal, held between his index and middle fingers. The hand is raised to head level, perhaps only a foot away from the noble’s face.

“Split this in half.”

“Taicho?!...” Renji is stunned, the weight in his chest both thrilling and terrifying. Did the captain know what he was asking? What if he?... _Did Kuchiki Taicho really have that much faith in him?_

The Sixth Division captain stands in the weak afternoon sun, the light breeze blowing the ends of his scarf around his waist. The eyes that were once open and staring at Abarai, fall to half-mast. Renji knows that when the eyes shut altogether and the head turns away, the rest of his captain’s body will follow and his chance will be lost.

 

Taking a deep steadying breath, the redhead sets his stance. Grim determination etches itself onto his face. It is all or nothing. He extends his wrist, watching as the leather slithers over his foot and the ground beneath him… whispering its encouragement. He lets himself feel it; his confidence, his desire… he allows it to wash over him, to give him the added boost to his ego that he needs… he wants to have those platinum eyes on him again.

The fire ignites in the ruby irises and a brazen smirk pulls at the edge of his lips. He can’t stop the taunt from leaving his mouth; it is who he is as a fighter, “…you sure you want me to crack this whip so close to that pretty face of yours, Taicho?” The _real_ Abarai Renji has emerged in rebuttal to the challenge called out to him.

_Look at me_.

Shocked, the captain barely has a chance to look up at his lieutenant before the lightening quick crack of the whip is past him… and half of the delicate sakura petal floats toward his feet. On its return trajectory, the whip wraps around the nobles wrist and forearm, and tightens like a python on the hunt.

The redhead waits for the eyes to focus on him again; he realizes that he has stepped over the line, but the desire to see _something_ in that gaze directed at him is too strong…

He expects to see anger, hopes for pride… but is surprised when he sees _arousal_.

“Excellent, Abarai.”

  
  


* * *

 

  
  
  
“…ready, Taicho?”

Renji observes the flex in the muscles running down the bare back of his captain as the brunet sets himself and takes his stance. Crimson eyes take measure of the proud and ever straight shoulders; they roam down the inviting curve of the noble's spine, over the smooth skin of the taut backside to the lean muscled thighs and legs spread; braced. Only the fundoshi breaks the porcelain smoothness of alabaster skin.

The captain's forearms and wrists, bound together and held slightly overhead; are once again tightly wrapped by the tail end of the twelve foot whip. The rest of the thong has been thrown over a low beam and secured around a peg in the wall.

Kuchiki Byakuya is strength.  And beauty.

Renji feels the hard thumping of his heart beating in this chest. He grips the handle of his newly acquired whip so tightly in his grasp, his knuckles ache. _This_ whip is a mere six feet in length; a whip specialized for use in close quarters combat, so to speak. It is a deep, dark brown, almost black; the weave on the handle is exquisite, the play in the thong is supple and responsive, and the leather itself is so buttery soft… brushing it over his own naked thigh is like the touch of an attentive lover.

 

“Carry on, Abarai.” The last syllable is gasped; as the first strike has already been thrown, and it is a quick and sharp bite to his left flank.

The second pass Renji sends over cracks between his legs and wraps outwardly circling around the knee and cinches tightly upward hugging a lithe thigh, stinging as the end snaps around… it’s an almost obscene parody of an apologetic caress.

The captain cannot see it, but he can sense the smug and toothy grin plastered over his fukutaicho’s face. The lieutenant is enjoying this.

There is no respite, as the next series of lashes rip the oxygen out of his lungs entirely; a set of quick strikes crisscrossing his back leave the captain practically dizzy. Slim hands grab for purchase on the leather cord binding and holding up his wrists, the wooden beam takes on more weight as the noble slightly gives in to gravity. He widens his stance to accommodate his rapidly heaving body.

 

The captain denies himself the relief of crying out; biting back each groan, choking on each scream attempting to claw its way up the alabaster throat. Physical discomfort is beneath him.

His fukutaicho does not hold back; the captain did not expect that he would.

 

Renji continues to demonstrate his innate talent, and varies the types of strikes to the pale skin; some are soft wraps encircling a slim ankle, or light strokes to his captain's bicep. Others become stinging bites curving around a tight hip bone, a slash to a vulnerable thigh or a slice around to an unprotected chest; and then there is the one flagrant long strike to the right ass cheek… leaving an angry red welt.

 

The noble cannot predict the timing or the heat behind each consecutive strike; he is left guessing. The anticipation of the unforeseen scatters his otherwise rational thought processes, he becomes heady with adrenaline; drowning in a fusion of pain... and _pleasure_.

 

The last is a series of lightening quick strikes to his shoulders, leaving eight parallel vertical welts -- four on the left shoulder, four on the right; much in line with the redhead’s own black markings on his broad back. Renji admires his own precision at this result.

The captain groans quietly, his legs shaky and quivering; his mouth open and gasping for breath as his head hangs between upstretched arms. His hair is drenched, and sweat is sluicing down his bared body, setting his flesh on fire as the salt finds its way to the inflamed skin.

Renji too, is panting in exertion; thrumming with lust held at bay. Abandoning the whip to the floor, the lieutenant moves to stand in front of his captain.  Feeling bold, he tips the proud chin up, “Look at me, Taicho.” It is almost a demand.

When his captain’s eyes open, the pupils are blown wide; the swirl of mercury surrounding them run deep, and threaten to pull the redhead under.

Renji leans down to capture parted lips; _and devours_. Slanting brazenly over a yielding mouth, his tongue pushes in to taste and lay claim to this untouchable heat. His large hands thread through jet black hair, clutching tight, taking hold of his captain’s head and tilting it back to his liking. He fucks his captain’s mouth with his tongue, relentless… dominating. He groans deep in his chest… _its too damn good!_

Breaking off, he slides down his captain’s body, hungry and stroking with his tongue at the few lashes that have wrapped around to the front chest, receiving a soft groan for his efforts. Each mark is a line of fire against his tongue.

On his knees, Renji removes the cumbersome fundoshi keeping his captain’s cock still bound. Released, the noble length in his hand is heavy and rock hard; a thankful groan from above informs the lieutenant that his assistance has been of great merit.

Renji glances upward, and sees that the captain still has his eyes halfway open… looking at him. Grinning lasciviously, an impossibly _indecent_ burn flares in his amber eyes… his tongue darts out to lick at the tip of the rosy head. It lewdly circles the tip, leaving a wet trail as he pulls his mouth slightly away.

“ _Renji_ …”

And there it is. His name. Spoken thick and rough, not in the usual melodic baritone of his stalwart captain; but of a man drowning in lust, in desperate need of gratification… and Renji would be the one to give it to him.

Wrapping his lips over the head, the redhead can already feel it pulse, wanting relief. He gives it a gentle suckle, and begins to use his tongue to massage under the tip and over the heated shaft. Not enough to push the man over, just enough to drive him to the edge; which it does. He hears a stuttering gasp, and the hips arch forward in need.

Calloused hands clamp around the errant hips; Renji decides it’s time to relieve the captain, so he can relieve himself. Without pretense, he engulfs the cock entirely in his mouth, feeling it bump the back of his throat. He presses his tongue to the underside of the hard length, rubbing against the sensitive vein; while working his throat into swallowing. He guides the trembling hips forward and back, encouraging an easy thrust.

 

Renji's only regret is that he won't be able to see Kuchiki taicho's face as he comes. He can only visualize the exquisite pleasure that will play over the stoic mask, that will throw Kuchiki taicho's head back in ecstasy, that will clamp his eyes shut and force his mouth open in a rictus of pain and drowning rapture.

_But that is for another time_.

The loudest noise he has ever heard Kuchiki taicho make is a guttural groan that vibrates through his chest and runs down into the cock filling Renji’s mouth. In less than a minute, a hot splash hits the back of his throat; and the redhead’s mouth is flooded with sticky, salty come.

Renji stands and walks over to release the whip from the peg in the wall, alleviating the captain of what has been holding him upright; exhausted, he uncharacteristically falls to the floor on his knees.   
  
Grabbing a vial of oil, Renji dribbles some over his straining cock and gives himself a couple of rough strokes. Stepping behind his taicho, Renji pushes him forward between the shoulder blades.  The onyx head falls forward to the hardwood floor, braced by still-bound forearms.

Pulling the slender hips up and holding them steady, the redhead bends down and uses his tongue to trace a proprietary lick along the six inch welt arcing across the pale cheek. He hums in approval, and hears what could have been a soft moan coming from his captain; the fukutaicho’s cock throbs painfully in need.

Unable to withstand waiting any longer, with a cursory stretch and slick; Renji positions himself and with a squeeze on a pristine hip, pushes forward and sinks deep into the heat of the body beneath him. Satisfaction and immense pleasure like he’s never before experienced send his eyes rolling into the back of his head; he arches back, and a groan so utterly undone rumbles up from his chest.

Tight.  Hot.  _Taicho_.  
  
Renji sets a harsh pace; unleashing the pent up desire he has held onto for _years_.  Powerful hips and thighs drive forward, hard and insistent; again and again.

Renji leans forward to cover his captain; licking up his spine and latching his mouth against a pink welt streaking down a sweaty shoulder, sucking hard. He hears an unrestrained whimper turn into a low moan, and it is all he needs, a triggering sensation-- and his muscles clench; all too quickly, the fire wraps around his spine and spirals upward.  With a lusty moan, he arches, his vision washing white as he comes; pulling the hips in his grasp back as his own push forward one final time.

Fingers softening their iron grip on bruised skin; they fall as an exhausted heap onto the floor. Turning his captain so that he can unwind the leather binding his wrists, Renji reaches out and brushes the sweat-drenched ebony strands away from a flushed cheek.

 

“Has my tactical use of the whip proven sufficient, Taicho?” Renji murmurs, mouth wide with a self-satisfied smile and eyes so drowsy they ache to keep open.

It takes a few minutes, and the redhead thinks he won't get an answer... then he hears it softly as he drifts into sleep.

“You have passed, Fukutaicho.”  
  
  



End file.
